by Nicole Snow
Wonderful. Is there any end to this tight rope I'm walking?
“I knew I recognized the name Fabius,” I say, bringing my hand to the small of Bekah's back. “My apologies for the interruption. I came by to pick her up, and I got here a little early. Bekah asked me to go over her charity's financials tonight, and for my favorite intern, I'm happy to oblige.”
Even happier to oblige her tight body. Sweet fuck, I have to pinch my thigh through the pocket just to control the instant, annoying hard-on touching her brings.
“Tonight?!” He accidentally bangs his knee against the low edge of the table, catching it before their glasses go crashing to the ground. “Rebekah, you said we had something to discuss. I cleared my schedule for you.”
She gives him her best puppy dog eyes. “I'm really, really sorry, Ethan. Bad scheduling. I swore I was sitting down with Grant tomorrow for the charity stuff. Can I make it up to you? How about the family dinner dad said he'd like to do in a couple weeks?”
I feel her stiffen while Fabius ponders. His handshake tells me he's a damned pushover, but there's a quiet fury in his ghost blue eyes I don't like. “Of course. I have some other business to attend to, anyhow. Have your father contact my assistant to set up dinner.”
He rises, reaches into his wallet, and throws down his credit card. It's a black Centurion with a royal purple stripe through it, just like mine. I'd expect nothing less from another billionaire. I also pick it up, press it back in his hand, and give him my warmest smile.
“Don't worry about it, pal. My treat for the inconvenience. I've had her buried in work all week. Really should've sent her a reminder this evening about our meeting. Totally slipped my mind in the merger craze.”
“Merci. Appreciate your generosity, Mr. Shaw. We'll sit down one day soon, and talk international business,” he says, his eyes showing none of the warmth in his tone.
“One day,” I agree, picking up the tab.
I walk it to the register, never taking my hand off Bekah. Ethan's eyes are dirty magnets. They never leave us for a single second while I pay. I still feel them when we get in my car, but I don't look back to double-check. Now that she's with me, he isn't worth another second.
“Great timing,” she says, buckling herself in as I start the engine. “Glad I wasn't alone when I saw how he got when you stole me away.”
“Where to?” I ask. There'll be time later to get the real story out of her. “Sounds like you've got a lot on your chest.”
“Anywhere he doesn't know,” she says, fixing her hair. “Surprise me.”
“Give me ten minutes. I know a place. Not quite the small town gem as Sanford's, but it'll do.” Bekah smiles when I mention the bar in Chandlersport.
It's raining. My car cuts through the wet, velvety night with ease, adding its soft growl to New York's dark streets.
The car won't be the only thing growling before this night is over, if I have my way.
I'll get Bekah's story out of her. Then I'll remind her how good it feels to have my tongue again, mouthing a filthy prelude to all the other ways sir knows how to taste his moscato.
“Why'd you do it if he makes you so uncomfortable?” We're up on the rooftop at my favorite Italian place with a fresh bottle of wine. Slipped the owner an extra bill or two for some privacy. It's technically closed off on Monday's, but for the right price, a man will sell anything.
“Playing peacemaker. Trying to get him off my back before I freak out, and blow dad's relationship with him. Maybe yours, too.” She drains what's left in her first glass.
I reach for the bottle to top us both off. “I know this deal means a lot to your old man. He practically made the Euro investments part of the fine print when we reached our agreement. Didn't know he was personal friends with Fabius.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Something like that. I don't see the appeal either, except for the guy being loaded. Like, old world money and royalty loaded. A tier higher than families like ours, brought up in the un-aristocratic US of A.”
“Never felt under-classed in my life, and neither should you,” I say, moving an inch closer to her.
There's static in the air between us. The kind that doesn't hurt when you touch it, but burns like a complete bastard because we're still too far apart. I need my hands back on this girl before the night is through.
“It's more than that,” she says, clamming up like she's said too much.
“Tell me,” I say.
Fuck it, I reach for her hand, enjoying how she swallows when my fingers twine with hers. “Whatever it is, I want to know.”
“He's...well, frankly, he's just a creep. There's something off about him, Grant. Tay started calling him Monsier Creep-o, and it fits like a glove.”
“Charmingly old world. Didn't know your best friend was an expert in linguistics,” I say. She giggles. Sweetest sound I've heard since I first coaxed it out at my cabin.
“I'll never understand why my father wants to deal with this guy so badly. I feel like there's more than money at stake.”
“More how?” My eyes narrow, and my fingers tighten on hers, pulling her nails across my skin. “You think there's, what? Something illegal happening?”
She doesn't answer. “Not necessarily. But the man doesn't have a heart. He doesn't spend his personal time with other associates like he does with Ethan.”
I don't follow. She looks at me, and I lean closer, pushing the wine glass gently to the table, making room for my hand to claim her face.
Brushing her cheek, Bekah closes her eyes. Easier than I expected to bring her to the zone. That makes it twice as wrong. Twice as dangerous. Damn if that deters me.
“And Ethan...he pretends, but deep down, he's just as cold. Doesn't think twice about profiting off war. Before you barged in on us at the bar, he was telling me about his firm's new contracts in Syria. Talked about building guns and bombs, passing them out like Girl Scout cookies. He doesn't see anything wrong. He thinks it's just Fabius pushing one more product to eager buyers.”
“And you're a humanitarian at heart,” I whisper, bringing my face closer to hers, heat pouring from my lips to her neck.
Bekah nods. It's hell keeping my hands off her chest. Know I'll find her nipples hard as stones, begging to be rolled and sucked, aching for me.
“You thought being a generation apart made us polar opposites, didn't you, moscato?” My lips brush hers, once, very lightly.
I hold the kiss until she nods. But before I move in to fully conquer, she twists her neck, her jade green eyes strained and unsettled. “No! We can't start up again, Grant. As much as I might want to –“
“Don't lie to me. Your words tell a different story from your pretty green eyes, moscato. They want me tasting you again. Just like I did when I put my tongue between your legs until you screamed.” Her body seizes in my arms, warming a few degrees. “Let those eyes do the talking for once. Forget what's right and wrong for one more night, yeah? I thought I did the right thing when we cut our little agreement last week. Thought I could honor it. Thought I wouldn't lose my mind to the urge pounding in my balls every time I lay eyes on you. I thought fucking wrong. Kiss me, moscato.”
I don't give her a choice. Her lips soften a second after they're mine.
It's even better than I remember.
She's sugary innocence dipped in lust. Heart and soul asking the flesh for reassurance. Raw, reluctant need seeking the perfect excuse to break its chain.
Her tongue melts under mine. I own her mouth the same way I've dreamed of having her body again since our frantic nights together.
When her hand reaches up, brushing my beard, I taste her moan. Know I'll have her again. Know I'll self-combust if I don't have her sweet pussy all over me by the end of the night.
Certainty should be a relief. All it does is make my dick throb harder, impatient as ever.
“Mr. Shaw!” I pull myself off her and spin around, ready to smash the wine bottle over the head of whatever little idiot has
decided to interrupt us. “It's past closing time, and word on the street is, the health inspector's coming for a surprise visit tomorrow. Terribly sorry about cutting in like this.”
It's Emilio, the owner. Bekah looks down with a flush, a hundred times more embarrassed than I am about the old Italian walking in on us just when we were heating up.
Annoyed or not, I can't blame a man for looking after his business.
“We were just on our way out,” I say, forcing a smile, grabbing her hand. I'm happy I went easy on the wine so I don't have to worry about waiting to drive, or finding a ride.
“If you'd like, sir, I'll refund you half for the intrusion.”
“Keep the change, Emilio. Good luck with your inspection.”
I lead her out. We don't say anything until we're both in the car.
Her eyes say she's re-thinking everything that's happened tonight. The fear and doubt burbles up again when she looks at me, ready to utter a word about how it's later than she thought, and she'd better turn in.
“I know another place,” I say, cutting her off at the pass. “Tell me about South America. I love a good travel story.”
“You own this place?” she says later, doing a double take. The glittery neon sign going up the side of the building breaks the pleasant trance she's been in, telling me about her travels for charity.
“It's investing 101. Diversification,” I say, smiling as I kill the car and step out, circling around to help her out the passenger side. “I've had Club B.I.G. for five years. Doesn't add a whole lot to my bottom line, all things considered, but it's a nice place to wow the younger kids who come to me for business.”
“Sir!” The bouncer recognizes me instantly behind the tight rope. He almost salutes, just like I'm the damned President, something I've told him at least half a dozen times before to drop.
I slip him a wad of bills before we enter. Inside, it's dark, colors oscillating softly. Neon blues and dense pinks alternate on the walls, illuminating a couple dozen dance addicts on the floor this Monday night. I take her straight to my private booth, ordering a couple drinks first. There's a curtain to separate us from all the commotion.
“Do I dare ask what the B.I.G. stands for? I mean, I think I can guess, but you don't seem like the type who needs to compensate in...other areas of your life.” She looks down at my crotch.
I grin, shaking my head. “The idiot who owned it before me called it Big. I made it an acronym. This club is all about what's beautiful, intense, and guilty. In other words, pleasure, moscato. I hear it's amazing. You ought to try it sometime.” My hand goes to her leg.
She's so fucking warm, aching to resume where we left off at Emilio's. I have to be careful here. If I get too carried away, I will fuck her back here in this booth, something I've never done before with the handful of girls I've brought here.
It's not my style. I don't want to wind up like a hundred other club owners in this city, glorified pimps, kinksters, and exhibitionists.
If diversification has always been my first rule, then don't shit where you eat has always been number two.
“You're still worried?” I ask, moving my hand up her thigh, feeling her cling to me.
She shakes her head. Fierce denial I quietly approve. It means she's starting to believe we can fuck without complications getting in the way. The waiter comes by just in time with our drinks, two whiskey sours, something a little stronger than the wine earlier this evening to take the edge off her rotten day.
“I don't know, Grant.” She lifts her glass, taking a long sip.
My fingers caress her softly, reading the story her skin tells me in its warmth, its energy, its need. “Actually, you do. I think you wore that beautiful blue dress hoping I'd notice. We both know it wasn't for Pepe Le Pew.”
“Spare me!” She rolls her eyes. “It was Tay's idea. She told me a girl shouldn't go on a let-him-down easy date without a parachute to bring in someone else in case he gets clingy.”
“Curious advice for a friend,” I say, hiding my smile in my beard. “Guess Tay just wants me to work harder. If you'd run off to someone else in the bar looking for protection, I'd have had to steal you away from two unworthy jackasses.”
Laughing, her hands go to my chest. Playful resistance. Familiar and sweet.
I could listen to her airy, happy sounds all night, but my lips don't have the patience. My next kiss comes in hot, silencing her sweet and playful side with a more carnal urge.
I haven't touched more than a sip off my whiskey sour. Good thing, too, because this moscato taking my tongue on hers is a goddamned drug.
I still don't understand it. The more I have her, the more I want. The closer I am to fucking her brains out for the dozenth time, the more I need to do it a hundred. When her hands slide down my face and push through my beard, I think how naked, how sad they look without a rock that would bind her to me forever.
And, fuck, I've officially lost it. This is how Grant Shaw goes down? This?!
A raging, confused, sex-crazed mess. Slayed by the first woman he's ever met who isn't just obsessed with his thick pierced cock and the billions in the bank? A woman who's too young, too rich, and too damned complicated to ever make this right.
Wrong? Damned straight. Knowing she's forbidden makes me want her more.
My hand moves through her hair, collecting a fistful of soft chestnut waves, and I bury her in ten more hard kisses before I move to her throat. My other hand won't stay idle. It goes up her dress, finds her panties soaked, and flicks them aside.
Her eyes pop, roll, and dance in their sockets when I shove two fingers in her pussy. She loses another delicate moan in my ear while I'm kissing at her throat, my mouth roaming her perfect, palm-sized tits, her nipples almost as hungry as her clit to feel my tongue all over them again.
No turning back now, even if I hadn't shot down restraint since the second I decided to follow her out of the office. We're in for another penny with this crazy, beautiful thing, and I'm looking for a whole fucking pound.
She twists under me as I move between her legs, laying her down on the soft leather surface beneath us. A low growl escapes my throat as I shove her thighs apart, inhaling her scent, wondering how fast I can shred her panties with my teeth before I bring her off so hard, she drenches the rest of what she's wearing.
I've trained more than a few squirters in my time. There's potential in her. Just thinking about her sweet pussy gushing all over my balls almost makes me lose a load in my pants.
“Yes. Grant!” She whispers my name, shrill and satisfying, as soon as I bite down on the lace between her legs. My hands lift her ass. Soon, her panties are around her ankles, leaving her steaming, sweet little cunt wide open for my tongue. “Oh! Oh, God.”
Sick, crude bastard that I am, I like to imagine she's decided to use the G-word for me. As if sir wasn't enough to make my balls seethe.
I give her my tongue, sinking it deep, again and again. Her hips thrash in the leather seat as pleasure comes. Too much, too soon, but I don't fucking care.
She'll come for me again. She'll be dynamite. Convulsing beneath my tongue, surrendering the husky screams I've demanded since our last night in my bed, one indecent lick at a time. I'll make her mine, slave to nothing else. She'll forget the heaping price we'll both pay if her father finds out what we're doing in the office behind his back.
Hell, it hasn't even happened in the office yet. Sweet lunacy hits when I think I might seriously have her on my desk one day, legs wrapped around me, sending my fancy pens and paperweights crashing to the floor. We'll shake the whole goddamned city with our animal lust.
My fingers dig into her sweet ass tighter while my tongue fucks her to heaven. She's squirming, twitching, writhing just for me.
No mercy until she lets go.
Sweeping my tongue across her pussy, I master it more with every lick. I devour her. My teeth pull her fragile clit in and hold on tight, spanking her bud with the tip of my tongue again and again.
“Grant, Grant!” She's screaming. Bekah's muscles tense so hard her legs wobble before she drops the final word. Everything I want to hear. A breathless, crazed sigh.
“Coming!”
For me, dear moscato, I think to myself. Come so fucking hard you break.
I pin her down and lick with wild abandon, guiding her release.
I create her O. I taste it. I own it.
Same way I'll rule every inch of her, long and hard and hellbent into the night.
Break. I tongue the word into her tender flesh, again every time her legs clench tight to my head and she cries out.
Truth is, I'm done with the chase. I want her tamed, thinking less, and fucking more.
I taste her tight cunt long after her legs have stopped twitching. Honey sweetness floods my mouth until my jaw goes numb. When I come up for air, it's my turn to gasp, growling as I replenish the oxygen in my lungs.
No exaggeration, I almost blacked out on divine pussy overload.
Her body is addiction incarnate, a vicious experience, a distraction from the very air I breathe. That's my Bekah: so perfect, intense, and mysterious I'll die before I stop obsessing.
Call it unhealthy. Call it mad. I know the rest of the world will, if it ever finds out, about one second before it comes down on our heads like an angry tsunami.
Does the risk make this sweeter? Don't know, but I'll be damned if it'll make me stop.
“You could've taken a break,” she says, mischief in her eyes.
I pull myself up next to her with one hand on the table, falling back, tasting the last of her on my mustache “No. You taste too good, moscato.” She's staring at me like she doesn't believe a word I'm saying. “Do I have to prove it?”
Yeah, I think I do. I grab the back of her head and pull her into me. My mouth consumes hers, harder than before. Moving between her legs, I push them open with my knee. Make her taste the sweetness coating my lips, teasing her tongue with mine, swallowing her whimper.
I'm about to reach down and unbuckle my belt. I'm dying to have the pussy I just tasted wrapped around me again, wringing the come from my balls, but only after I've sent her into orbit a few more times.